


I Can't Help It

by endlessnepenthe



Series: "Why, Where Are We Going?" "The Future." [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff, I wrote this instead of sleeping because I need some fluff after Endgame, M/M, Rain, Sleepy Bucky Barnes, Sleepy Cuddles, Soft Bucky Barnes, Super Soft, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, like the softest thing you will ever read in your life, listen I don't really like Steve but Bucky does so we'll make this work somehow, very very soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-06-03
Packaged: 2020-04-07 06:40:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19079569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/endlessnepenthe/pseuds/endlessnepenthe
Summary: Steve comes back to Bucky sleeping on the sofa.That's not allowed. Not when they have a perfectly fine bed.





	I Can't Help It

Steve hates this weather. The earth is wet and muddy under his boots, rain pelting down hard enough to be audible. He hates this weather, because it brings him back to the first time he’d thought he’d lost Bucky.

_I just need one name: Sergeant James Barnes from the 107th. Please tell me he’s alive, sir. B-a-r —_

Even now, Steve found himself avoiding any thoughts of trains; _he’s clutching at the thin metal railing, the frigid wind howling like an enraged animal, tearing at his skin and threatening to sweep him away. The chilled leather of his glove is pressed against his forehead, his eyes squeezed shut in a twisted grimace of grief as his hair whips around in the wind. Metal bolts ripping apart under too much weight, followed by Bucky’s terrified scream as he falls thousands of feet, echoes in Steve’s mind in an endless loop. If only he’d moved faster. He doesn’t remember how long he’d clung to the side of the train, hot tears freezing against his cheeks, unable to accept the fact that Bucky was gone even as the train carries him farther and farther away._

Ducking his head, Steve walks faster, boots splashing through puddles as he swerves around people wielding large umbrellas. He’s glad that he’d chosen a waterproof jacket with a large hood, his cap shielding his face from the rain while he holds his reusable canvas bag shut with one hand. Sam had mentioned in the morning over breakfast that he needed more milk and eggs, so Steve had volunteered to take a stroll after dinner and pick up groceries while he was out, since Sam usually ended work late.

Steve’s relieved when he’s finally out of the rain, absentmindedly locking the door behind him as he works on kicking his muddy boots off. Collecting them from where they’d haphazardly landed, Steve sets them neatly by the wall next to Bucky’s heavy black combat boots. He hangs his jacket up on a hook near the door, adding his wet cap next to it. Ruffling a hand through his flattened hair, Steve pads into the house.

“It’s really coming down out there,” Steve mentions to the general air of the room, carefully placing the milk and eggs into the fridge. The meticulously selected plums he’d also bought are piled into the large intricate glass bowl on the counter, designated for Bucky’s favourite fruit. When Steve had asked about Bucky’s sudden preference for plums out of pure curiosity, he’d quietly and haltingly replied that they were supposed to help with memory. Absolutely devastated by the new knowledge, Steve had silently vowed that he would buy Bucky as many plums as he wanted, whenever he wanted; Steve even began buying blueberries, which he had to add into the pancakes he made on some mornings, because Bucky made multiple excuses not to eat them otherwise.

The silence in response to Steve’s words isn’t unusual, so he’s genuinely surprised when he finally turns to the sofa and finds Bucky asleep. After the serum, Steve didn’t require as much sleep as he would’ve without, so he’d settled with a little over four hours after every 48; the serum that Bucky had been injected with demanded at least two hours every 24, but Bucky was one to put off sleep for as long as he could until he physically could not any longer, so he usually ended up sleeping even less than Steve did. Although neither of them really needed so much sleep, Steve enjoyed being in bed with Bucky, both of them curled up together under the comforter and dozing lightly or simply just resting with their eyes closed during the quiet hours of the night and morning while Sam was asleep.

Bucky is sitting upright on the sofa, relaxed against the cushions with his legs spread comfortably apart, head lolling forward limply in the way that was an indication of someone truly and deeply asleep. Yes, Steve understood that Bucky didn’t want to let himself fall asleep because of horribly vivid nightmares, but he couldn’t help his constant attempts to coax Bucky to sleep, because nightmares are more bearable with company and Bucky has Steve. Before Bucky had fallen from the train, he was the mother hen with Steve, poking and prodding him to take care of himself, hovering anxiously whenever skinny Steve would show any signs of fatigue. But then came the Winter Soldier. And Bucky became alarmingly indifferent with his own body, much too careless and unconcerned about whatever happened. So now Steve is the mother hen, fussing after Bucky and making sure he wore enough and ate enough and slept enough. The Winter Soldier had not cared about his body at all, only doing the bare minimum to maintain ideal functioning levels, and that had bled into Bucky. He was getting much better about eating and caring for himself, but Steve still worried about Bucky’s prominent lack of restful sleep.

Although Steve wanted to make a conscious effort to lighten his steps to avoid disturbing the silence, he doesn’t. Bucky’s trained assassin senses were probably unconsciously waiting to see if he was a threat and sneaking around was a sure fire way to be labelled as an enemy, so Steve carefully treads as heavily as he usually would, internally wincing at each low creak of the wooden floors. He slowly approaches the sofa, slotting himself in between Bucky’s legs, narrow hips gently nudging against the insides of Bucky’s thick thighs.

“C’mon, Buck,” Steve murmurs, ducking down to place his hands on either side of Bucky’s waist. Bucky doesn’t startle or wake, breathing a soft sound and rocking forward just the slightest bit toward Steve. That, for Bucky, was just as good as verbally agreeing, so Steve happily complies. He presses Bucky against his chest, one hand braced on Bucky’s back to keep him upright, the other sliding under one of his firm thighs to lift him off the sofa.

Bucky hums a long low note that rumbles in his throat. He hooks his ankles around Steve’s waist, dangles one arm over one of Steve’s shoulders, and nuzzles lightly at Steve’s neck. “Steve,” he mumbles on a drowsy sigh.

“What’d Sam and I say about sleeping on the sofa,” Steve gently reprimands, “you’re—”

“Can’t catch a cold,” Bucky slurs, and Steve can feel him slipping deeper into sleep, body sagging heavily against Steve.

“Doesn’t mean you should do it,” Steve grumbles halfheartedly under his breath — largely speaking to himself — as he carries Bucky to their bedroom.

Rare are these times where Bucky exhausts himself to the point that his body forces him to sleep, so Steve revels in the feeling of being around a pliant, barely conscious Bucky, delighted by the way this unguarded Bucky unapologetically sought out Steve's warmth. Throwing the perfectly made comforter to one side, Steve lowers Bucky down to the bed in a seated position, getting up to grab the hoodie draped over the back of a chair near the bed and shut the door. It takes all of his willpower not to coo when Bucky whines lightly at the loss of contact with Steve, returning to the bed to let Bucky lean back against his chest.

Steve patiently pulls the hoodie over Bucky's head, nudging limp and unresisting arms through the sleeves until Bucky is no longer in just a thin black t shirt. It isn't until after the hoodie is properly on — Steve finally notices the way it hung off Bucky's shoulders, fabric pooling softly around Bucky's waist. He is broader than Bucky in the shoulders and taller by just enough for his hoodie to be adorably large on Bucky's smaller frame. The sleeves extend past Bucky's knuckles, and when he lazily curls his elegant fingers into the cuffs, Steve's fond exhale is punched forcefully from his lungs.

Holding Bucky close, Steve lowers himself down to lie flat on his back. Bucky follows easily, pressing himself to Steve’s side, flesh arm thrown over Steve’s ribs, and Steve can’t help the smile that curves his lips as he presses a kiss to Bucky’s hair.

Bucky inhales deeply, long and slow and content. “You smell like rain,” he murmurs, words languid and sloppy with sleep, breath hot against the skin of Steve’s collarbone.

Steve hums in agreement as he reaches over Bucky’s shoulder to pull the comforter over them both. “Was really coming down out there.”

“Mm.” Bucky shifts restlessly, settling again with a tiny wrinkle of his nose. A strand of hair falls across his face from the movement; Steve brushes it aside.

The rain continues pounding against the windows, rhythmic and soothing. Steve finds himself looking down at Bucky, eyes tracing the slope of Bucky’s nose, the delicate curve of his dark eyelashes—

“It’s creepy to stare at people while they sleep.”

Steve laughs quietly, feeling only the slightest twinge of guilt. His fingers itched to draw, to preserve this soft and relaxed Bucky forever on paper. “I can’t help it, Buck.” _You’re beautiful._

Bucky huffs. _“Sleep,_ Steve.”

Steve hates it when the rain comes down in sheets. He still avoids any thoughts of trains. But under this comforter, with Bucky a warm solid weight against him, Steve finds he doesn’t mind the rain as much as he used to.


End file.
